


A Final Salute

by damalur



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 03:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12739647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damalur/pseuds/damalur
Summary: Councilor Mustang nails his colors to the mast. Captain Hawkeye holds his beer.





	A Final Salute

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meggannn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggannn/gifts).



> Actually less "Hawkeye holds his beer" and more "Hawkeye drops her champagne" in the most literal sense.

It was a month of ceremonies. First there was a small, formal event to mark Commander Hawkeye's promotion to Captain, and then a large, informal event to send off Lieutenant Breda and Operations Chief Falman to their new post at the embassy in style, and then an even more informal event to celebrate Captain Mustang's resignation ("that bastard") and new role ("he'll save us all"), followed shortly after by a brief but solemn program during which Mustang officially surrendered the _Signal Fire and Fury_ to Hawkeye's hands.

The last event, though, put all the rest to shame, because Councilor Mustang's inaugural party was obligated to outshine every other affair. Some eight-hundred-odd people attended, because the Councilor wouldn't risk offending any of his past or promising future acquaintances by neglecting to invite them. The gala was held in the Shepard Ballroom at the new Systems Alliance Embassy on Eden Prime, and in fact Shepard was the only human of note who wasn't present herself. Obviously Shepard in her middle age was even less inclined to be treated as a show-pony, a stance that Hawkeye herself not only respected but looked forward to emulating.

Hawkeye had managed to dodge the newly-appointed Councilor for most of the evening. Events that transpired some months prior had obligated her to start treating the Councilor with cool reserve — a manner that was in many ways similar to the warm reserve with which she more usually responded to him but was drastically different in ways that only the Councilor himself would recognize — but that was personal. She was happy for him, really. He'd finally risen to a post that would let him put all those grand dreams into action, and whatever hurt she felt was irrelevant in the face of that achievement. 

Nevertheless, she found herself reluctant to be caught in conversation with him. Fortunately, he was otherwise occupied; his guests kept him busy as they fought over his attention and alternately praised his political audacity or made subtle digs at everything from his work ethic to his service record. The Councilor took it all in stride, and in his wake he left nearly everyone dazzled and shining. There was something that made it a little hard to watch, though — maybe Hawkeye had had one too many glasses of champagne, which was less her fault than Staff Lieutenant Havoc's, or maybe she was merely prematurely mournful.

Close to midnight she finally allowed herself to retreat from the crowd. This floor of the embassy was used primarily for official functions, and in addition to the larger venues there were a number of small chambers that could host meetings, provide workspaces for visiting officials, and otherwise impress upon a guess the importance of the building and what it stood for. The fourth room Hawkeye wandered into was an actual library that housed print copies of what looked like all the great works of Earth's luminaries. Its windows looked out over Lake Thessia, which shimmered under the crimson-silver light of Eden Prime's moon.

"There you are."

Hawkeye started and spun around; a little of the champagne from the flute she held spilled onto her hand. "Sir!" she said. 

He stepped into the library and closed the door behind him. "At ease, Commander. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's 'Captain' now. Sir."

"Right," he said. "Captain. My apologies." His hand rose to the bowtie at the base of his throat and then fell away again, like he was self-conscious at the suggestion of nervous movement. "You don't have to call me that, you know."

"Sir?" said Hawkeye, who was something of a master of the infinite depth of meanings in that one word.

"I'm not your superior any longer, Captain."

"Of course, Councilor," said Hawkeye.

He dropped the affectation and scowled at her. "You're a stubborn one." 

Hawkeye lifted an eyebrow.

The Councilor ambled over to a desk tucked in the corner between Colonial Noveau and Latin American Boom. He poked at its contents: moving the decanter of whiskey a few centimeters to the left, lifting one of the elegant ink pens and then setting it down again, opening the cover of the heavy book of glossy, scenic photographs positioned in one corner. Like a cat, he only settled into the chair behind the desk once his curiosity had been satisfied.

"I thought we should talk," he said. "Clear the air."

"I wasn't aware that the air needed clearing, sir," Hawkeye said. She felt, abruptly and all at once, her dishevelment; she'd unfastened the front of her uniform jacket, and her usual crisp upsweep of hair was beginning to slide dangerously low on her nape. Meanwhile, the Councilor looked as sleek as ever in his tuxedo, with his hair parted and combed neatly into place. She'd been surprised he hadn't chosen to wear his dress blues, but he was if nothing else an expert at making a statement. Distancing himself from the military, maybe — public opinion was starting to fall after the post-war high that had carried the Alliance through most of the decade prior.

"Don't be so stoic," he said. "I know you haven't been happy with me lately, not since — "

_("Are you sure you want to resign your commission to serve on the Council, sir? There's precedent for you to retain your rank."_

_"I can accomplish my goals just as easily outside of the military's structure now that I've been offered Grumman's seat. Maybe even moreso."_

_"In that case, I have some thoughts on how to proceed with the transition. If you want to make a recommendation on who should fill your position on the_ Signal Fire, _I have a list of candidates the brass is likely to consider. We also need to decide if I would be more useful as a civilian aide or if you should request me as your head of security — "_

_"Actually, Commander… I was planning on recommending you as my successor."_

_"That's not a possibility."_

_"I've held you back long enough. You deserve your own command, and your talents are far better suited to climbing the ranks than they are to helping me push papers."_

_"With all due respect — "_

_"I know you disagree, Commander, but I have my reasons.")_

"You shut me out," Hawkeye said. "How was I supposed to respond?"

"I didn't shut you out," the Councilor argued. "It's the decision that will benefit both of us in the long run — "

"I fail to follow your reasoning," said Hawkeye. She was furious, and worse, he knew it.

"Can you really tell me that you don't see the advantage of having the human councilor and an Alliance admiral working the same problem from different angles?" 

"I'm not an admiral — "

"Not _yet,"_ the Councilor said, "but you will be. If you want it." His dark eyes gleamed. "You'd be good at it, and you know it. There aren't many other positions that will let you use all your talents to the fullest."

"I'm a marksman."

"And a leader," he said. "And you'd be able to shape the future of the military. Root out those that abuse their power. Turn the Alliance into a defensive force ready to respond to outside threats at a moment's notice instead of a rat-warren filled with human supremacists." 

"You didn't have the right to make that decision without me!" She turned on him with the force she'd been biting back for months. "We've been working together for this since — "

They'd signed up at the same time, he because he needed the training, she because she had nowhere else to go. After boot camp, Hawkeye had been shipped off to Marine Sniper School. They hadn't even waited that long for Mustang; he'd been yanked out and reassigned to Jump School before the week was up. Their battlefield reunion had come later, and from those dark days through the war with the Reapers they had built a reputation for excellence that had only been partially obscured by his smokescreen of lazy intemperance.

"It's been a long time," he said. "Too long. And you're right, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made the decision without you, but I… that is, I didn't want to… " His hand went back to his bowtie, but this time instead of resisting he snarled and yanked it loose. "Dammit, I hate this thing!"

Hawkeye, bewildered, could only say, "You tried on six tuxedos before you decided on that one."

"What?" said the Councilor. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Hawkeye was undergoing a revelation: he was frustrated because he was _nervous_. But what on Earth was he nervous about?

"It means that you're almost as vain as you pretend to be," Hawkeye said. "You were saying, sir?" 

"I… " He looked down at the wadded-up bowtie in his hand. "I didn't want to presume," he tried. "It just seemed inappropriate to bring up when I was still your superior — or maybe I'm just a coward."

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"I'm trying to ask you to marry me!" he shouted.

Hawkeye dropped her glass of champagne.

There followed several minutes during which they stared at each other across the room, until the Councilor looked away. "But apparently I'm not going about it very well," he muttered. "Look, Commander — dammit, Captain — "

"Is that why you didn't want me at the embassy?" Hawkeye demanded. "Was all that about my talents being used better elsewhere just a line?"

"What?" he said. "No, of course not!"

"And you resigning your commission?"

"That wasn't… not _entirely_ unrelated," Roy said.

Hawkeye shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she took another deep breath. After the third deep breath, she realized she'd fallen into the breathing pattern she used when she lined up a shot at two thousand meters and opened her eyes again.

"Come out from behind the desk," she said.

"What?"

"You heard me."

At least she wasn't the bewildered one anymore. He stood up and stomped around the desk, features arranged in a scowl that did absolutely nothing to hide how wracked with anticipation he was. No wonder he'd seated himself back there — he was used to having the safety of that remove between them, but like most, he'd made the mistake of confusing concealment and cover.

He cleared his throat, and when she didn't start talking, he did. "You can't tell me it comes as a complete surprise," he said. "Not that I behaved in any way that let on — well, maybe I did, but it wasn't intentional or… or abusive. I hope."

"I've never felt threatened or coerced by you," Hawkeye said, because it seemed important to make that clear.

He sagged in relief. "Good. That's good."

"But how exactly did you see this going, sir?" she said. 

"Don't call me sir," he said automatically. "Uh, I suppose I hoped you'd say yes. And we'd marry soon — "

"It would have to be next year," Hawkeye corrected. "We both have new positions that require attention."

"Right, next year. When we could take some leave. Maybe after we've been on a first date," he said, more to himself than her, because god forbid anyone knew what a romantic he was. "And learning to balance a long-distance relationship would be difficult enough without... wait a minute, Commander, I mean Captain — was that a yes?"

"I think you had better call me Riza, sir," said Hawkeye.


End file.
